


La Cuisine du Diable I : La Rosette fleurie

by Judy_The_Dreamer



Series: La Cuisine du Diable [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hannibal is a Cannibal, a deal is struck, also miriam lass might be a bit depressed, freddie is a food critic, hannibal owns a restaurant, investigations going on there, it's a good one though, miriam lass is looking for exciting work, the catering service is a bit dodgy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-17 06:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3519071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Judy_The_Dreamer/pseuds/Judy_The_Dreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Notorious food critic Freddie Lounds is at it again. This time she's ready to sink her claws into La Rosette fleurie, a brand new restaurant that caters to the 'unorthodox'. Tiny little problem though: the owner's a total creep. </p>
<p>Enter Miriam Lass, ex-FBI trainee, looking for an exciting first assignment as health investigator. What better way to start a career of than with an undercover operation in the Devil's nest?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, this is the first fic I wrote in years (4 to be exact) and I really hope it doesn't show too much. Most of my writing has been original fiction in Dutch (my mother tongue), but here my lovely beta bunburyist101 has corrected my various mistakes. Thank you so much! 
> 
> I should also say this fic was originally written for the Hannibal Big bang on Tumblr, but it's been pretty much dead since late November after some serious delays. Since I'm not that patient a person, I decided to post it here for your enjoyment.
> 
> Please enjoy and leave some kudos or a comment!

Tofu that nearly melted on the tongue, surrounded by softly steamed vegetables and provided in a tiny side-dish: a luxurious amount of toe-curling cheese sauce.  
   
It was a heavenly dish and Freddie Lounds _hated_ it.  
  
Well, not so much the food, but more the fact that she couldn’t find anything wrong with it. This was the third time since La Rosette fleurie’s grand opening that she’d went to eat there - not counting the little spies she’d sent to try some of the non-vegetarian courses – and the lack of progress she made towards a revealing review of the restaurant was driving her crazy.  
So far, the only thing she’d been able to remark upon was that the head-waiter, a Mr. Abel Gideon, his name-tag supplied, seemed out of place in the whole culinary environment. His eyes were simply too sharp for her comfort as he swept around the room hawk-like and keen, although that could easily be explained as him being much more alert  than any other personnel she’d encountered before.  
To his credit, head-waiter Gideon had a certain way with words that Freddie would have called charming if she’d not been spooked by him. Under his leadership, clients were served in a manner that could only be described as smooth or flawless. And that was high praise coming from her!  
_Not that I’d put that in the article though._  
She’d have to think of a plan B now that her initial approach refused to yield satisfying results. However, there was not so much you could do to investigate a restaurant as a popular culinary blogger short of unexpectedly barging into the kitchen. _And then getting spectacularly kicked out_ , she added.  
Though it was a unsurprisingly tantalizing idea for the daring journalist.

  
From her spot she could make out the double doors that led to the main kitchen. They swung open at regular intervals from both sides as the staff made its way to the tables and back. If she stood up now, calmly, and feigned going to the bathroom she might make a beeline for it.  
“Was the meal to your liking, ma’am?” Jesus, Freddie swore she must have bounced in her seat from fright. She’d been so caught up in her fantasy that she never  noticed the creep approach her table.  
Abel Gideon, smug smile firmly in place,  stood undeterred while waiting for permission to take away her plate. A dessert menu at the ready in his hand.  
“It was fine.” No way she was giving him the satisfaction of complimenting the service now. She strongly suspected that the man knew he’d gotten on her nerves and was enjoying it immensely.  
“Dessert?” He extended the menu towards her. Freddie almost wanted to decline the offer as she was getting more uncomfortable in the restaurant by the minute.  
Still, good journalism required sacrifices and if she had to feel tortured just a little bit longer for her to discover some dirty secrets about the place, she’d do it. Heck, she’d sacrifice all of her property to some obscure deity for a hint of darkness.  
Thus, she forced a smile on her face and hoped it looked genuine enough. “Sure.”  
“I’d recommend the strawberry cheesecake, ma’am.” And off to the kitchen he was, with her plates neatly stacked on his arms, perhaps with a bit more swagger in his step than before.  
The notion made her seethe. “I’m not eating anything you recommend, creep.” Even so she began to study the strawberry cheesecake on the menu. The provided description made it sound decent enough, she decided. And the description of the strawberry coulis made her mouth water.  
  
In the end she placed her order for the cheesecake with one of the other waiters, a surly young man called Nicholas Boyle. His apprehensive way of handling her as a client told Freddie all she needed to know about him. His experience in the branch was clearly limited.  
_Curious_ , she frowned. High-end places like La Rosette usually only hired top-notch staff. Either the boy had bought his way in – unlikely since Dr. Lecter was filthy rich if the rumours were true – or his fear of losing the job was impairing his performance. Freddie decided to leave it alone for now though, she’d probably get back at it once all other options were exhausted.

  
Anyway, the strawberry cheesecake he served her was superb. Gourmand-Freddie enjoyed it immensely, while Journalist-Freddie was slowly slipping further into a state of extreme agitation. To make matters worse, Freddie had the distinct feeling that Abel Gideon kept sending her furtive glances every now and then. His behaviour reminded her of those nature documentaries with the big cats just waiting for an opportunity to pounce. She tried her best to suppress the cold shudder that went through her frame at the thought.  
_Well, I’m not giving him the opening he wants. Take that, creep!_  
Innocently, Freddie waved at Nicholas Boyle to come over. He did so quickly, albeit with an air of confusion as to why she had singled him out. Boy, did he need to build up some confidence.  
From the corner of her eye she could see the creep shifting in place, so the smile she gave Nicholas was perhaps a bit brighter than intended. “Could I have the bill, please?”  
“Certainly, ma’am.” The poor boy nearly bolted away from her. All the while Abel Gideon kept his eyes trained on her with a look of pure frustration about him. It was the best thing that happened to her all day.

  
Not even the bill Nicholas eventually brought back could damper the feeling of triumph. She paid quickly and tipped him for good measure.  
The young man pepped up considerably after that if his goodbye was any indication. “Thank you very much and please come again.” And then he pressed a promotion flyer in her hand.  
Freddie looked at him questioningly. “What’s this?”  
“Oh, it’s for our catering service. Dr. Lecter’s got us handing them out everywhere.” Nicholas stated docilely.  
_Right. I’m sure the good doctor’s just vying for everyone’s attention._  
 “So if I can’t get to the food, the food will come to me, huh?”  
“That’s the spirit of it,” Nicholas agreed.  
_Lovely. I can work with that._

 

* * *

  
It was in every way unlike Freddie Lounds to feel guilty about the damage she caused as a culinary blogger. Her plans concerning La Rosette fleurie were no exception. If the catering service was the instrument with which she could land her kill, she’d certainly make use of it. The question was how?  
The ideas that were sparking through her head in the following week made her a restless ball of energy. Even the weather seemed to adapt to her mood with sunshine one day and a raging storm that kept her awake the entire night the next. By Sunday the weather luckily had cleared out and Freddie dared to go for a walk in the nearest park.

  
When she came to live in Baltimore she’d discovered that she often needed some respite from the busy city. The park had been the logical choice and it helped clear her head wonderfully. By the time she arrived home again, she’d be bubbling with new inspiration. So the walks had become a permanent fixture in her life.  
This time her plan actually began to form during her walk. As she studied the leaves growing a dull brown on the trees, a very simple idea came to her that she’d disregarded at first. It was more straightforward than her usual approach, but maybe that was where she’d lacked before. Freddie didn’t need slippery techniques to buy her way in.  
  
_I only need to walk up to that door and order something!_  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Freddie executes her daring plan and runs into some unforeseen trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to post one chapter a week, so I get some more time to work on another fic and the sequel to this.
> 
> Please enjoy and leave some kudos or a comment!

On the 20th of May Freddie Lounds found herself parked outside La Rosette fleurie with the flyer clutched in her hand. She’d studied it closely over the past few weeks hoping it would give her useful hints. By now, she could conjure up its image in her head by will, which should have warned her that she was getting a little too invested in the case. However, Freddie wouldn’t be Freddie if she hadn’t immediately shoved all her doubts aside.  
It was a _damn_ pretty flyer though.  
In swirling black calligraphy a talented hand had noted down the following information on a piece of brown parchment before it had obviously been photocopied upon cheaper paper:  
  


_Annonce Publique_  
  
_Dr. H. Lecter and staff of_  
  
_La Rosette fleurie_  
  
_Cordially invite you to try out a dinner supplied by our very own catering service which is set to be opened on the 14th of May._  
_The service will provide the already familiar courses found on the menu in our restaurant, but we also plan to incorporate more unorthodox requests._  
_For more information, please contact us at the following number or representatives from the staff._  
  
_Always at your service,_  
  
_La Rosette fleurie_  
  


Freddie hadn’t dialled the number for the simple reason it might raise too much suspicion with the staff. And she preferred the one-on-one approach a lot more than some vague answers on the other end of the phone line. If she was desperate enough to contemplate storming the kitchen then she might as well try entering the lion’s den directly from another angle.  
So yeah, there she was in the deserted parking lot looking out at the building complex across from her. It’s size had always made Freddie wonder if any of the staff were housed somewhere in the building. After all, the restaurant and kitchens took up only a fraction of the available space. Now, Dr. Lecter had added a special reception room on the right of it with a separate entrance, but that left the question what he got up to in the rest of the complex. Just what did Dr. Hannibal Lecter have up his sleeves except copious amounts of cash?  
Once her investigation into the catering service was completed, Freddie might delve into that particular mystery. For now she just got out of the car and walked up to the new entrance which sported a fancy plaque above it.

_La Rosette fleurie – Catering service for the Unorthodox_

When one thought about it, ‘unorthodox’ could mean many things. For example, it could entail exotic dishes that were extremely difficult to come by or junk food prepared in a haute cuisine kind of style. Maybe it was even there to offer an escape for those who were restricted in their diet by cultural bounds.  
_Probably with lists full of obscure ingredients to look over too_ , Freddie thought sourly. What a bother.  
Not that looking over a boring list filled with posh nonsense would stop her now.  
  


When she finally reached the doors and pushed the heavy oak aside, Freddie had the feeling she’d stepped into another world entirely.  
The reception Dr. Lecter had commissioned for his second business venture carried an unusual atmosphere at best. If there hadn’t been a plaque above the door, one might think they’d wound up in a fancy hotel lounge. The space was primarily dominated by a long polished wooden counter which supported some advertising racks and menu cards. Off-side the room opened up into the actual lounge where some chairs were arranged with a vague resemblance to a waiting room – small coffee table with relevant magazines included. The entire space was lit quaintly by glass lamps hanging from the walls.  
Frankly, the opulence stunned her a bit. Sure, the inside of the actual restaurant had been very elegant in itself, but this kind of refinement for a simple side-project seemed a bit over the top. Even the sound of her high heels on the marble floor added to the imposing atmosphere as she went to sit down in the waiting area.  
_Silk cushions. Check._  
  


It felt like she sat there on the fancy settee for an eternity before she noticed the silver bell on the coffee table.  
_Of course I had to miss that. I could have waited here forever without anyone ever coming._ Freddie cursed herself as she reached out to ring for assistance.  
For a moment the lounge stayed eerily quiet after the sounding of the bell and then she heard the far-off noises of a door opening and closing and footsteps hastening her way.  
_Finally, let’s get this show on the road._  
It was an iron principle in Freddie’s method of conducting field work that she vastly preferred working with kitchen and serving personnel. After all, the more you climbed up the ladder in any sort of business the more tight-lipped the staff became. Not to mention that they were much more difficult to deceive – and a lot less likely to sue her for damaging their workplace’s reputation. So maybe whatever gods controlled the world were giving her a sign to give up already and go home when the second door swung open and the devil himself stepped out.  
_Dr. Hannibal Lecter._  
Her breath might have hitched a tiny bit then.  
Freddie had to give it to him: the doctor cut an intimidating figure face to face . The experience certainly didn’t compare to studying photos from newspaper clippings or catching a glimpse in the restaurant when an acquainted client called him out.  
Internally, Freddie’s journalist-side was gleefully jumping up and down at being this close to a man who was very much still a mystery to the press in Baltimore. Freddie knew he had a long history as an important society figure even before he started up a career in the culinary arts. First, he’d been a surgeon and afterwards dabbled as a psychiatrist for a couple of years. However, that was about all the information from that period in his life Freddie had been able to uncover in her background check. Frustrating, of course, but she’d overcome her own feelings eventually.  
What she got out of the man’s behaviour as he greeted her told her a lot more than any research could have done anyway.  
Dr. Lecter didn’t linger at the door for even a second, but came up to her with the confident walk of someone who knew had absolute control over his environment. (Freddie felt a newfound sympathy for all of his former patients who’d to face up to this man during the psychiatrist years. Which was kind of disconcerting really when you thought about it. Weren’t those supposed to be comforting instead of imposing?)  
“Good morning, miss…” The ex-surgeon’s hand – which had probably saved countless lives – swiftly broke her out of her reverie and she made sure her hand wasn’t too sweaty when she shook it.  
“Kimball. It’s nice to finally meet you, Dr. Lecter.”  
His grip tightened for a second there as he studied her, but his smile stayed polite so Freddie didn’t worry too much about the gesture.  
“I’ve visited you restaurant a couple of times,” Freddie continued with a slight smile. “The food has always been truly excellent, so I thought why not try this out too.”  
Lecter graciously accepted her compliment with a nod. “And I’m very glad you came to that decision. Please, make yourself comfortable and I’ll bring you a menu.”  
He gestured to the settee she’d stood up from when he’d entered and Freddie gratefully lowered herself. She hadn’t realized her knees had been trembling.  
Lecter soon sat down across from her – carefully, so as not to wrinkle his impeccably tailored suit – and handed her the menu card.  
“Please take a look and tell me what you’d like.”  
Freddie’s eyes scanned through the listed courses at top speed, but soon finished with a frown. There was nothing particularly special about the offerings. _Where was the unorthodox stuff?_ Maybe she needed to step up her game a bit.  
“Well,” Freddie started, still cautious of the man’s scrutinizing eyes. “I’m not entirely sure, you know? I’m kind of in this experimental phase and your tagline does say ‘unorthodox’, so maybe you could tell me about that?”  
Something flashed behind Dr. Lecter’s maroon eyes, but his face kept up a perfect mask of politeness. Everything from here would be her treading on thin ice, Freddie knew instinctively, either she’d piqued his interest – which was  good – or he’d picked up on her true interest.  
“Then I must kindly ask you to elaborate more, Miss Kimball.”  
_Shit. What did he expect her to say?_  
This man was slowly driving her into a corner and Freddie hated it. No one had gotten on her nerves this much since that disastrous year in high school where her lab partner decided it was a brilliant idea to set her hair on fire. And Dr. Lecter was nowhere near any sort of weapon.  
Freddie used the blush discolouring her cheeks to her advantage and hoped she looked every bit the demure young woman. “I’ve always been a good girl, Doctor. Always colouring between the lines of society, but lately I’ve got a taste for more risky stuff.” She kept her eyes down for good measure. “If your catering service is my way to this then I’d gladly –“  
“Are you Freddie Lounds?”  
_What?!_  
The shift in atmosphere from homely to Antarctic cold came as such a shock to her senses that Freddie was sure she looked like a dead fish with her mouth frozen open.  
“If you are, I must ask you to leave.” There was definitely a threat in there somewhere, even Freddie with her jumbled thoughts could scrap that together.  
“But – “  
“You’ve been terribly rude, Miss Lounds, and I detest rudeness.” Lecter’s eyes were projecting icicles in her direction now. “Exactly what’s to be done about that?”  
She didn’t like the speculation in that last sentence at all and she scrambled for an answer. “I won’t write about your restaurant!”  
_And there goes all my hard work…_  
“Better, Miss Lounds, but not what I’m after.”  
“What do you want then?”  
Lecter leaned in conspiratorially like he was going to reveal some grand secret to her and was not scaring the wits out of her. “I want you to quit.”  
“Everything?”  
“Everything.”  
Inside Freddie’s rage was rapidly unfreezing her mind in a way that she knew an eventual outburst would come soon. And she would have enjoyed lashing out at this gentleman who turned her in a meek schoolgirl if it wasn’t for the fact that his unspoken threats still hung heavy in the air. He might as well have been choking her with a thick blanket of them by the way she felt the pressure beat down on her lithe frame.  
Hannibal Lecter was still staring her down calmly but with an undertone of amusement in his gleaming eyes as if her turmoil was a piece of theatre performed by a stumbling understudy. She braved his gaze the best she could and nodded.  
  
For the first time in recorded history Freddie Lounds had given in to a will that was not her own.  
  


 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fate is not casually waiting until adventure comes along. It's unknowingly running straight into it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops. Forgot about updating there. Thanks university. As an apology please accept all chapters that are left.

Miriam Lass’ morning routine consisted of not so interesting things and for the longest time she had no desire to change anything about it. Not since she’d been forced to leave the FBI anyway.

Today, that was going to change.

Her morning began, predictably, with her in bed and her blaring alarm filling her tiny apartment with its unholy volume. That was her cue to crawl or fall – based on how much energy she wanted to spend that day – out of bed. After that came the obligatory shower which was either freezing cold or pleasantly hot depending on if the boiler decided to act up. Then she would bolster herself for both the best and the worst thing out of the entire routine. Getting her arm back on.

 

Normally, she would have asked help from one of her neighbours to get it on, but Miriam had gotten pretty efficient in doing for herself. Practice did make perfect, after all. One did not become a top-student at the FBI Academy without a healthy dose of perseverance.

 

And it was exactly those thoughts that ruined her morning on most days.

 

_This arm is the reason I’m not FBI anymore._

It was an uncomfortable reminder of her past days of glory when she was still on top of her game. Well, she was still there in the mental department at least. Only the physical had thrown her down the mountain where she now lay a half-broken being, hating herself. The sad part was that she wasn’t so much angry at herself for fucking her own career up, but more because she had allowed herself in her initial confusion to be shoved aside by her mentor and peers while she knew inside that she was just as capable as them. Her grades had been better, so she must have still been useful in the analysing part of investigation. But when Jack Crawford had sat down with an apologetic look on his otherwise stern face, she’d known her days there were officially over.

 

_It’s for the best_ , he’d said. _This is no place for someone who needs to rediscover themselves. I need strong, sure-minded people on the job and right now you’re not fitting the bill. I’m very sorry, Miriam._

 

Even worse, she couldn’t disagree with him, at least not at the time. She had indeed been walking a very thin line between clarity and depression. In a way rediscovering herself had been just what she needed to get her normal life back on track. In the beginning, her goal was to return to the FBI straightaway once she passed the required tests, but slowly her mind had begun to deviate from that plan.

Working at the FBI had been a way to satisfy her need to help people while using her intellect at a near academic level even outside the classroom. The months after her dismissal Miriam had started looking for something in the same branch without the physical side of things. The career of health investigator had only popped up on her radar recently, but in a bout of audacity – a character trait which had also cost her her arm – she’d applied for training. She liked it immensely.

Surprisingly, a lot of psychological aspects were incorporated. How to handle difficult owners. When to use just the right amount of pressure to make them cave in. And there were undercover operations.

_Now, those I can live with._

Probably the best thing about the whole concept was that she had a distinct advantage for once and, ironically, it was the very limb that she often cursed in the morning.

 

Statistically speaking there was a very small chance of anyone ever expecting the one-armed woman to be the rat, much less an official investigator. Miriam might have despised the image of weakness that came with it, but seeing the stunned faces when she showed off how good she was despite the arm made the sting nearly inexistent.

Somehow Miriam Lass’ life was going straight to greener pastures.

 

So, back to the one morning routine that would change everything.

 

Miriam made it a habit to take a walk through her neighbourhood every Saturday after her late breakfast. It was a respectable part of town – not too fancy for her taste – so she could walk in relative peace past the quiet homes and shops.

About half an hour into her walk, Miriam would pass the gates that formed the entrance to the parking lot of _La Rosette fleurie_ , the new restaurant all her instructors were raving about these days.

 

Normally, the parking lot was completely deserted on Saturday mornings, so the lone car in the parking lot caught her attention. Immediately her investigative instincts reared its ugly head like a hungry wolf sniffing out prey. _Why_ was there a car at the client section of the lot? Miriam had looked into the restaurant’s hours before out of curiosity and knew it only opened in the evening on weekends.

 

_Maybe it’s a break-in?_

Cautiously she edged closer to the parked vehicle and peered inside through the windows. No visible gear or weapons to be seen, but that didn’t mean anything if the burglars were already inside the property. Although the building held no visible signs of forceful entry, in fact it lay there quite serene.

Frustrated, Miriam shut her eyes and tried to remember what FBI-protocol recommended in cases of theft in public places.

_Not our division._

Yeah, that’s pretty much what Jack would say.

Blindly, she reached into her coat pockets in search of her mobile. A call to the local police office wouldn’t hurt anyone, right?

 

She was dreadfully wrong. It hurt like hell.

 

In retrospective, standing in the middle of a parking lot with your eyes closed might not have been the smartest thing to do. You could get hit by a car for example. Or in this case: a redhead.

They must have been quite the sight lying there on the gravel with limbs sprawled out comically in every direction. Miriam might have laughed if she hadn’t gotten a face full of red curls the moment she’d landed on the ground. Her nostrils were already being accosted by the smell of lemongrass shampoo which clearly pointed out she’d been knocked over by a woman.

_And not even a particularly heavy woman either. By that stretch, also not the burglar type._

High heels uncomfortably jabbed her legs as the woman scrambled up from her human cushion. Miriam waited until the woman managed to properly stand upright, before pushing herself up from the gravel.

‘I am terribly sorry. I’ve been having a horrible day and I should have been paying attention to where I was going.’ The woman tentatively smiled as she extended a hand to help her up. Her flustered face carried a light blush that complimented her red hair and clothing.

_What was with that colour anyway? A bit overdone, don’t you think?_

‘It’s nothing. I didn’t hear you coming, after all.’

An awkward silence fell between them in which the women took each other in. Freddie’s stare might not have had the investigative quality of a trained agent, but Miriam instinctually felt she was not entirely a stranger to the field. That made the two of them, she supposed.

It was Freddie who broke the silence at last. ‘Hey, why don’t I treat you to make it up? I could use some company right now.’

Miriam pondered the request. Her mind flashing through all pros and cons of indulging this stranger who had brutally disrupted her morning routine. She would be lying if she told herself she wasn’t the least bit curious at what had made the woman bolt from the restaurant in the first place.

_To hell with normalcy._

‘Sure.’


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which deals are struck and Miriam is not entirely convinced she's doing the right thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end for now. I hope to see you soon in part 2 (which I plan to write as soon as university releases me from its claws). Thank you for reading and please send this fic some love.

Two pair of heels clacked against the pavement as they stepped side-by-side through the peaceful neighbourhood. One low and conservative, the other high and dangerously thin. Miriam wondered how the redhead could keep them from breaking while clearly putting all of her weight on them. Maybe her slight figure had something to do with it.

Miriam had always been more of a sporty girl. Good in athletics and the occasional martial art, so she’d soon traded a slight frame for a more sturdy one. Still, no amount of rugby training had saved her from being keeled over by the smaller woman. It was kind of hilarious, once you got over the resulting bruises, that is.

So far, Miriam was just relieved her arm had stayed on during the whole ordeal. She wasn’t quite sure if she wanted this near-stranger to know about that specific appendage. It often provoked too much pity from people she didn’t want it from. People who hadn’t a clue about who she was and what she was good at despite it. Not that Freddie Lounds seemed to be the sort of person that concluded things from such details.

Now that she was thinking about it: exactly _where_ had she heard that name before?

TV? Internet? Work?

“I hope you like sweet stuff.” Freddie’s voice jarred Miriam out of her reverie. Without her noticing, they’d reached their destination. A little teashop seemingly put down at random between a convenience store and a lawyer’s office.

“I suppose I’m fine with it.”

Freddie smiled slightly and pushed open the door which made the doorbell jingle. “Then I’m relieved.”

She flitted inside and Miriam followed her swiftly before the door closed, wondering what was on the menu.

 

*

 

Two cups of chamomile and a very tasty meringue later, Miriam had finally figured out where she’d heard the name Freddie Lounds before. Plenty of times. In fact, one particular instructor at the institute chose to rave about the culinary blogger to his inattentive students. Miriam was ashamed to say she had been one of them.

Well, in the future, she promised herself, she’d definitely make use of that convenient well of information, because some prior knowledge about the brazen woman opposite her would have been nice.

 

“I am a journalist.” In that one sentence Freddie Lounds had successfully managed to both kick-start a conversation and issue a clear warning at Miriam.

_Better watch your mouth, Lass, no one’s going to pay off the press for you now._ She could almost hear Jack’s baritone spouting off warnings in her head.

“That’s…interesting.” She warily smiled back. “I’m kind of between things, I guess.”

Freddie hummed sympathetically. “Unemployment sucks. I discovered I work much better when it’s just me and no one else on the work floor.”

She dropped two sugar cubes in her coffee and stirred the beverage. “Got your eyes out for something specific?”

“I’m currently in training, actually.”

“ _Oh._ For what?”

“Health investigations. You know, inspecting kitchens in restaurants and all that.”

Freddie paused with her hand on the milk saucer and fixed her with a sharp look in her eyes.

_Did I say something wrong?_

“I certainly know.” Freddie stated flatly. “I’m a specialist in the field after all.”

_Oh, that Freddie Lounds._ Miriam felt as if she’d discovered a new continent, but at the same time wanted to hit herself with the teaspoon. Completely silly, of course, so instead she cringed, rather noticeably.

“Sorry?” _And why do I have to make that sound like an apology?_

The next moment Miriam would forever define as the starting point of their peculiar friendship.

Freddie burst out laughing. And not in feminine giggles either, it wasa boisterous sound that made her seem not only younger but also a lot more approachable than the sly journalist persona she had going on.

Miriam liked it.

When Freddie finally regained control over herself again, she said in a lighter voice: “Let’s be friends, Miriam.”

Straight to the point like Miriam found only Freddie could be.

Freddie’s smile turned wry. “I could seriously use some good humour in the coming days.”

_What for?_ “Something wrong with yours?”

“My career has taken a downer this afternoon.” She sighed heavily and stirred her coffee. “I fear I will not be able to stay in the business for much longer if I don’t come up with a plan or a very good lawyer at the least.”

Somewhere far away a little bell tinkled in Miriam’s mind. “Wait a sec, has this something to do with _La Rosette fleurie_?”

She nodded once and added: “Well, I’m calling it _The Devil’s Kitchen_ as of now, since Hannibal Lecter appears to be his long lost son, but yeah, I suppose me storming out of there was a huge hint.” Her smile got a bit more lively. “Not that I’m questioning your investigative ability, Miriam. I can tell you’ve got a history there. Law enforcement?”

“FBI.” _No point in denying that._

“Thought so. You’ve got a bit of an detective vibe going on.”

A silence fell over their little table after that. Freddie quietly sipped her coffee and stared out of the shop’s window. The street was still mostly empty, but now and then an early shopper passed by. Her eyes didn’t follow them down the street though, just stared to the outside.

“Perhaps you could help.” She said, so softly Miriam might not have heard it if she hadn’t been studying her so intently.

“Come again?”

“You could help me!” Stronger this time.

Miriam arched her brow. “Care to tell me exactly _how_ I am going to save your career?”

Freddie leaned closer over the table and whispered conspiratorially: “I might not be able to research _The Devil’s Kitchen_ , but you are! Health investigators have to do undercover work from time to time, right?”

“Your point?” _If this is going where I think it is, I definitely need to change jobs again._

“Well,” Freddie’s eyes twinkled mischievously, “if I was informed correctly _La Rosette fleurie_ hasn’t undergone all the necessary inspections – especially the catering service on the side – so you should be able to get permission for an undercover inspection from your supervisor and—“

“—Report all my findings back to you. Why would I do that?”

Freddie laughed again, leaving Miriam confused. “Isn’t it obvious? You miss the excitement!”

“I do not.” _Maybe a bit._

“Oh, come on, Miriam! Be honest! An FBI-agent—“

“Trainee.”

“Alright then, an FBI-trainee, who aside from the obvious arm-problem—“

“How do you know about that?”

“Shh. Not important now.” Freddie shoved her protests aside. “Where was I? Ah, an FBI-trainee, who seems quite capable of performing her duty, making a career as a health investigator must miss all the adrenaline the old job brought along.” Her smile had now grown into a full-blown grin. “Not to mention you went to investigate a suspicious scene all by yourself. Although, the closing your eyes might not have been the best move.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before” _From myself no less._

“So?”

“So _what_?”

“Pretty please?” Freddie extended a manicured hand over the table and gave her best innocent smile. “It’s going to be fun.”

Miriam held in her breath for a beat, but then let it go slowly. “Okay, I’ll do it.” And without hesitation Miriam Lass grabbed Freddie Lounds’ hand and shook it firmly. “Deal.”

_Huh. I must be going crazy._

**Author's Note:**

> Some Notes for those not familiar with the French language:
> 
> In French it's not common to write adjectives in a name with a capital letter. You can do it, but often someone will correct you on it.
> 
> La Rosette fleurie freely translated means 'the little blooming rose'. A rosette can also be a form of decoration, a sewing pattern or a medal.


End file.
